News Traveled Fast, Especially In An Organization As Small As This One, But Not Fast Enough As Far As

melancolialunar​:

Remus was stuck in a hazy existence, as if the very edges of life had been blurred out from the pain. It was difficult to care about anything when his entire body was busy putting itself back together. It was almost a miracle he even managed to be walking and moving like a semi-human – he remembered back in the day, having to be carried out to the infirmary in the mornings, unable to even stand on his feet. It was either a great fortune or a tragedy that his body seemed to have gotten more used to transformations now.

Careless as he was, he didn’t pay any of this situation any mind, for a hot second. Not his raggedy clothes that were three sizes too big and probably made him look like a hag, not the state of his father’s home, not the food that Severus chose to share on the table. He was careless as he sat down on the floor, limbs folding down ungracefully like a puppet crumbling to the ground. His skin felt on fire, as if it had been scrubbed raw, nerve-ends exposed, and feeling the fabric of the couch against it was too painful.

He picked up the bowl and was halfway through scarfing its contents down when he started caring. The soup was much appreciated to a growling, empty stomach, a state of being that Remus hardly even noticed anymore. It warmed up his insides, his hands, it soothed the dull ache on his knuckles. It felt nice. “I can look like death and be focused. I’m multifaceted like that.” He joked defensively, suddenly hyper aware that he must’ve looked like some kind of inhuman wild creature, lit up with bruises, all curled up around a bowl of soup, eating up as if he hadn’t seen food in the last month.

In hopes to regain some of his decency, he wiped at his mouth with the back of a hand and cleared his throat before he spoke again. “My mum used to make chicken soup. When I was sick, I mean. Did Lily tell you about this?” It was simply curiosity nagging at the back of his head, a tongue that found itself without much of a filter in the wake of so many wounds to lick. It’d be a funny coincidence if it hadn’t been Lily’s doing.

The dreaded request came – walk me through it – and Remus shoved another spoonful of soup into his mouth, to avoid answering for just a second longer. “Locked myself up in the cage. Turned.” His eyes focused on a spot on the wall, as he found he felt much less exposed if he didn’t have to look at Severus when he spoke about his turns. “It was… different than last time. Worse. I was aware of everything, had all my senses, but I couldn’t control it. Was like… taking a back seat to a first-person horror show, pretty much.” He knew he’d have to elaborate, bring out the details, Severus was too meticulous with his academic writing to let anything pass. But he took a lingering moment to breathe, and waited for more questions.

Severus waited for Lupin to be ready to speak, eyes taking in the littered bruises and wounds that he could see despite the baggy rumpled clothing. He came prepared with bruise salves and dittany, and made a mental note to produce them later before he left. 

When Lupin did speak it was with a defensive comment. Severus raised an eyebrow, but only to suppress a smile. The werewolf was clearly uncomfortable — as he was in most situations. Lupin seemed to interact with the world around him as if through an ill-fit bodysuit for skin, and it was more pronounced now than when he was surrounded by his friends. It was something that got under Severus’ skin when they were younger, when he looked down on people who couldn’t carry a conversation with confidence. In the past few months, however, Severus had gained a new appreciation for the werewolf’s hidden resilience. Then Lupin spoke about his mum. ‘ No, ’ he said in response to the question. He paused. ‘ My mum made chicken soup, too. When I got sick. She taught me how to … ’ He gestured vaguely with a pen towards the bowl of soup and the sliced loaf of bread. She taught him how to cook and bake, among other things. Some of his fondest memories were atop a stool in the simple kitchen at his Spinner’s End home. It was part of the reason the kitchen saw little to no renovation when Severus reclaimed the property two years ago, despite the rest of the house getting turned on its head.

Severus didn’t look at Lupin directly as he explained what happened. It was a poor attempt at leniency, averting his gaze so as not to lay the full weight of his attention on the man as he struggled to recount the events. They were not friends. But despite the invasive nature of his questions, Severus did not enjoy watching him struggle. He listened attentively. Took notes. When Lupin finished his rather short explanation, Severus pretended to consult his notes for longer to give him a moment to breathe. Then he asked his questions. ‘ Did the sharpness of your senses fluctuate throughout the period of transformation? Could you keep track of time accurately while transformed? And how well do you remember the events of that night? ’ 

asphodelroot​:

“I’d prefer avoiding all fights, altercations, and crossed words,” Lily snipped, crunch the remnants of the ice cube between her teeth. “Somehow I doubt that you occupying Sirius for the evening would a smart step towards that goal.” Especially with Sev admitting to be so totally ready to poke and prod at a werewolf under a full moon eclipse for the sake of trying make him have a violent outburst. For the thoroughness of the study, but still.

“Remus is plenty mentally present tonight.” Which might speak well to this variation of the brew, if not for all the other moon-mad symptoms itching at him. “Meaning problem is his calm. Just because he’s aware of where he is and what he’s doing doesn’t mean he can’t get angry and lash out about it.” But maybe that wasn’t something a potion could be relied on to regulate. Hell, perhaps it wasn’t even the lycanthropy’s fault. Remus could simple be angry and lashing out, because he was angry and lashing out. Not because of the moon or because he was bitten so many years ago (well, maybe because of that, but not in the usual, lunar sense).

Pursing her lips against the gloominess of symptoms she couldn’t help with a brew (and had thus far failed to help with anything else), Lily curled her arms around the plate of sausages and started munching on them. A welcome distraction, even if not the crisp burst of cherries she wanted. “Take me through the variations you’re going to try next,” she said, because losing herself in calculations and magical construction would also be a distraction from her irritation and the helplessness rooted beneath it.

Severus shrugged in a hey, at least I tried, sort of way, and didn’t press the issue. 

Severus hummed in thought, half agreement and half introspection, eyes flitting about the room until they landed on the werewolf. ‘ He does, at that, ’ is all he said, but he wondered privately if some of the ingredients diluted within the potion mixed together wrong. If he’d made a mistake that enhanced the moon-madness rather than decreased it. He had such little room to test it’s effectiveness, a population sample of one, but he had done the best he could with what was available and whatever happened tomorrow night there would at least be able to collect more information to work on for the next eclipse.

Severus nodded at her request, leaned forward, elbows on the table, and began a thorough explanation of the current variation on wolfsbane he was working with, as well as the one he was going to attempt next (and next, and next, until it bloody worked). The chatter seemed to help her, and it helped him as well to reiterate and explain what was mostly buzzing about in his own head for months now. Lily was always a good sounding board.

Eventually, the chatter winded down, and Lily dashed off to find her wayward werewolf with renewed determination. Severus sighed, pulled his plate back in front of him, and resumed his habit of people-watching.

END.

If Severus had been part of the team and it’s planning from the beginning, they wouldn’t have wasted so much time setting wards the day of the mission itself. It was a two-tier ward with protective and defensive spellwork, as well as an intruder’s alert. Something he had prepared previously just in case of an emergency. It was effective enough but hardly of the same effectiveness as something he could set up if he had three days instead of three hours. Bellatrix Lestrange could barrel through this in three minutes. But that was what the alarm was for.

He flicked his wrist, the last of the spellwork spun like a ribbon into a tight knot of magic. ‘ Not bad, ’ he said. But not ideal. ‘ We’re done here. This should give us a heads up if someone slips past us. ’ He paused, trying to think of a way to explain it in layman’s terms without going into technical details. ‘ It detects intent to harm and redirects it to the source. With vigor. ’ There. No need to delve into the gory details. ‘ We need a good vantage point to stake out now. ’

He turned to Lupin. ‘ What’ve you got? ’

@melancolialunar, @txlkalots

Where: Liverpool

When: June 24th

Who: Remus & Severus & Lucinda

This was the part of battle that Lucinda hated. The non-battle part. The waiting around, standing still while waiting to spring into action. Her entire body was on high-alert, startling at every rustle of a leaf, every coo of a nearby bird. Every second seemed to drag out – especially when there was no sign for how long this state of limbo would last. She hated it.  Give her battle and curses, quick attacks and nimble opponents; at least then she could do something. Be useful.

For now she was resigned to stand guard while the ward-experts quietly surrounded the house of Spencer Davies with shields and spells Lucinda probably couldn’t even name. A safety measure, others would see it. A symbolic effort if you asked her. If their enemies got to the wards, it meant that there was nobody left to protect Davies. But it wouldn’t come to that. Not when they were prepared and Lucinda’s hands were itching with spells.

She let her eyes scan their surroundings, before briefly turning to her teammates. “How’s it looking time-wise?”

@wrongdeor , then @melancolialunar

Severus blinked with a ‘who, me?’ look on their face. ‘ I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, ’ said the cat that ate the canary. ‘ You must be exhausted. Being dead for 5 years will do that to you. ’ They were both products of Slytherin House, where privacy was only as respected as the protections around it. If Black wanted to keep his thoughts to himself, well, with due diligence he certainly could.

Severus conjured a desk chair (wheels, armrests, and all) that they dragged closer to the young man before they sat down, legs crossed at the knee, and leaned back. The air shifted palpably in the room, Severus was no longer interrogating a potential threat, they were catching up with an old acquaintance. A corner of their lips lifted at being called contrary, only a little too pleased with themself. ‘ Just twelve, ’ they said, ‘ for now. ’ If Severus dared to dream of what they would do after the war, it was this: make new spells. And potions, and wards, and artifacts. One day they might outweigh the violent magic they’ve written into the world.

If Severus was taken aback by Black’s following confession — and a confession is what it was, quiet and honest, however else Black chose to frame it later — they didn’t show it. Black had stumbled through epiphanies of his own since Severus had last seen him, not unlike the ones Severus had worked through themself to get here. ‘ What a surprise, ’ said Severus, ‘ look who had a change of heart, now. It’s only been 5 years, Black, what happened to you? ’

Severus listened intently as Black spoke. They watched him without blinking as the words sank in. They remained carefully impassive, face empty of all emotion.

I found something out. Something that could be fatal to someone I swore to serve.

For one ferocious moment Severus wanted to pin Black down and empty his mind of all knowledge and memory, comb through his thoughts with tedious care, and pluck it’s secrets out one by one until they found what they were looking for. The moment passed. Reckless, Severus thought. Unlike most of the people they dealt with, Black knew of their Legilimency. A delicate hand was needed.

Severus hummed. ‘ Better late than never, I suppose. Only a few hundred died since your great discovery, but I’m sure you’ll carry their deaths with dignity, and such, and all. ’ They waved a hand to encompass the such and the all. Guilt over strangers did not factor into this at all, Severus suspected. Something happened to someone who mattered to Black, or Black thought it did, or would. That was what sprang the young man from the grave, or else his secrets would’ve died with him. But that was a question for another day. ‘ What did you find? ’

wrongdeor​:

Severus held the other’s gaze as he spoke his name, looking for snippets of memory, a passing thought that would reveal them to be a pretender. There was no distance between the mind he looked into and the name Regulus Black. This was, at worst, someone who fully believed they were the dead Heir of the House of Black. At best —

Doubt, despite itself, dissipated rapidly once Regulus opened his big bloody mouth, and the most ridiculous taunts left his lips. Hm, yes. There he was, the impossible brat. Severus almost grinned, suddenly, but schooled his features back down to impassivity. His shoulders relaxed just a little. 

He raised an eyebrow. ‘ I got sick of being told what to do, ’ Severus said, ‘ and treachery sounded grand. A better question would be why not, really. ’ He waved a hand flippantly. ‘ It goes better with my nature, yes? Halfbloods and their shaky convictions, and all. I suppose your darling Bella was right about me all along. ’

He walked up to the littlest Black, arms crossed, a slight cant to his head. He intended to look menacing, but his guard was down, and his tone was more inquisitive than accusatory: ‘ You, on the other hand, heir to name and to fortune — how does this go with yours? ’ What are you doing here, Regulus?

*

“Oi,” Regulus asked, leaning forward on that couch he’d rather burn than sit on again, “are you in my head?” He looked at the other, scanning their shoulders, their mouth, their general now-lost tension. “You are, aren’t you? You seem very pleased with yourself there, Severus,” Regulus added with a scowl that was patently false in sincerity and transparent to the thing he might label joy beneath it. “Figures you’d go poking.”

Regulus’ head fell back onto the couch, eyes sliding shut against his will yet following it at the same time. The duality of conscious and unconscious desires playing out in that one simple movement. He’d been worried, before, but whatever Severus was here to do, he’d do it without alerting the entire damn estate to it. That was safety enough for Regulus to close his eyes. Not despite Severus, but because of Severus.

“You always were a contrary little bugger,” Regulus agreed. “It was never enough to make one spell, no you had to make, what? Eleven, twelve of the things?” Regulus sighed, rocking his head back and forth on the couch in the best approximation he could of a shake. “Bella did turn out to not be right about much,” Regulus said quietly, “and I don’t think she was right about that.” That was entirely too much honesty for this conversation. Regulus was going to blame the sleep-deprivation if it was brought up.

“Treachery is quite the lark though, I must admit that. Always something done in a flurry of springtime fancy like a Hufflepuff after a pastry. Knees knocking together with the sugar high and excitement of it all.” Regulus shook his head again, choosing honesty, blunt and brittle a tool though it was. “I went researching. Volunteered a friend for something I never should have. Nearly lost him and found more than I should have in those books.”

Cracking open one eye through its leaden weight, Regulus looked at Severus. “I found something out. Something that could be fatal to someone I swore to serve. I nearly died for it and didn’t bother sharing it until now.” That eye closed again. “Don’t go blabbing that around, not even to Evans. Especially not to Evans. Strictly need-to-know, that. Might interfere with my future ambitions if it gets out and then I’d really have to hex you with something you didn’t make up.”

@melancolialunar​

June 14th, 1984. The Lupins’ household.

Severus stepped over the cobblestoned garden path and up the steps in a straight, uninterrupted walk, but as they stopped before the closed door, they hesitated. They were keenly interested to see how the adjusted Wolfsbane fared against the eclipse, and that was what brought them here in the first place, but before they rang the bell to Lupin’s mother’s house, they felt a rush of nerves at what awaited them and what to expect from this visit. The last time they dealt with an eclipse, Severus didn’t see Lupin for nearly a week. And the wolfsbane was completely ineffective then. Now — Severus wanted to see for themself. 

They shifted the strap of the work bag against their shoulder, adjusted the pot of hot soup in their hands, took a deep breath that they let out slowly. They rang the doorbell, and waited. ‘ Good to see you’re still alive, ’ Severus greeted dryly. But not dishonestly. ‘ We have a lot of work to do, ’ they lifted the shoulder with the bag strap briefly, shifted their stance, and patted the lid of the steaming pot of chicken soup. Then declared their offering, ‘ I brought food. ’

@perniciouspotter​

Flashback. February 1984.

Severus rapped brisk and loud knuckles against the wooden door. In the last few years following graduation he’d expected to run into Potter again — neither of them made their allegiance a secret, especially not from each other. And they, sworn enemies from the moment they met to the very end, were set on a collision course and picking up speed. How could Severus not anticipate a crossing of paths?

Current circumstances were laughably different from what he’d anticipated before. Instead of the violent encounter he was itching to have, a clock ticking downwards in his mind counting towards this meeting, Severus shifted a bag of healing brews against his shoulder. Waiting almost politely at his enemy’s front door to be let in. With every intention to do the opposite of causing harm.

He nodded in greeting as the door clicked open. ‘ Potter, ’ he said in the least hostile tone he used since he was 11. ‘ You were informed of the reason for my visit? ’ Of course he was. It would be rather difficult if he wasn’t. But Severus had run the meeting in his mind several times over and this was the best he could come up with.

Something wasn’t right, was Moody’s first thought. Something wasn’t right because he’d just vast a quick-healing charm and the blood wasn’t stopping. But, no time to think of that now. He needed to apparate out. If he didn’t they’d –

Two things happened at once. Blood dripdripdripped off Moody’s arms, down his chest, as he stumbled backward. A hand grabbed roughly for his shoulder and then they were gone, the dizziness and the nauseous lurch of an unprepared apparition taking him by surprise. If he’d been of any around mind right now, Alastor would have snapped at the younger wix about being splinched.

Instead, Alastor Moody came out of the apparition and stumbled into an unfamiliar house (not the estate, the woods were wrong and the landing area was different, much like where one could be stretched too thin, like jam across too much toast) in an unfamiliar place (sounds were different, the birds and the creatures outside sounding off like scuttling little things instead of great, gallumping beasts of wizards and witches at all hours of the day and night) and slumped against the wall. When he slides down it, unable to follow behind Snape for fear of falling, there’s a streak of crimson.

“Well. Can’t say ’M all that comfortable,” he rasps out, a shaky laugh, fingers curling unsuccessfully around his bleeding wounds. “Picked up a curse, it seems.”

Severus looked back at the other man’s words. Crimson red painted the wall and dripped a puddle onto the wooden floor. He strode back, knelt beside Moody, and examined the injury that caused the bleeding. A long, crisp line cut from Moody’s chest up to his shoulder. An upward stroke, thinning towards the end, like the tip of a sword. Severus’ lips pressed into a flat, displeased line. ‘ What luck, ’ said Severus. ‘ Don’t pass out before I’m done with you. ’ 

Then Severus began to sing. The counter to Sectumsempra was something he’d mulled over between books on healing and phoenix tears, the incantation lilting with a soft melody as he passed his wand over the injury once, then again, then a third time. The wounds knit themselves together imperfectly, leaving a long scar behind. The dim white light faded from the tip of his wand as the last syllable did. 

He pressed the back of his hand against Moody’s forehead to check his temperature. ‘ Alright, up, ’ said Severus, shifting the other’s arm around his shoulders and hauling him to his feet. Slowly he walked them towards the couch in the living room and laid him down. Severus unbuttoned and discarded his heavy cloak, folding up the sleeves of his shirt as he knelt beside the couch and turned his attention to Moody’s other injuries. ‘ How do you feel? Where else does it hurt? ’ He couldn’t dismiss the image from his mind of Moody standing like a wall against a barrage of curses and spells like he was somehow immune to them. It wasn’t a common sight on missions, at least not before Severus joined the Order and was presented with a range of ridiculous displays of selflessness that were entirely pointless and ill thought out. This was, by far, the most brazen, and the fact that it was on his own account made his stomach turn.

Let’s switch, said Rosier, and handed him a diagnostics paper and rattled off a list of instructions. Severus looked at the bed and rocked back on his heels, suddenly, like taking a physical blow. He’d fallen from a tree once, when he was young, twenty feet down and it knocked all the air from his lungs. The memory resurfaced unprompted, an echo of this moment, and he tried to take a deep breath. Then he took one step, two steps, and stood by Lily’s bedside.

His hand reached out carefully to touch her wrist, felt the faint pulse in her veins, and watched the air expand and expel from her lungs. For what felt like eternity, Severus stood like this, still as a statue. Waiting for signs she was getting worse. Bruised lungs. Internal bleeding. Broken collarbone. The list of diagnostics went on an endless loop in his mind —

Potter burst into the infirmary, a whirlwind of self important rage and childish animosity. Severus was yanked away by his bloody collar, and it was a testament to his current state of mind that it took him a moment to return to the present. To feel the anger light a fire in his gut. To think, who the fuck do you think you are?! Before he grabbed the front of Potter’s robes and slammed him against the wall of the infirmary, hard enough to rattle the shelves. ‘ Be quiet, ’ Severus said, a soft, quiet tone that belied the violence simmering underneath. ‘ Or get out. This is an infirmary, you fucking delinquent. Who do you think you are? ’

@healerrosier 

Date: June 24th, 1984, just after leaving the Entry Room Location: The Prewett Estate, infirmary  @wrongdeor & @healerrosier

James moved quickly from his argument - possible argument? - with Jones down the corridor to the infirmary. Lily, fuck, Lily. She could be dead. She could be dying. He couldn’t fucking believe that he’d let her end them when he knew it might end up like this between them and they’d be left with nothing but tainted memories. He could’ve had four more months with her. Damn it, Lily.

He was angry and tired and so, so fucking terrified. But he was also keeping his cool, Hestia’s words about how blowing up wouldn’t help him - how Evan wouldn’t let him stay - ringing through his ears. And, by the time he made it to the infirmary, he was almost calm. Almost ready to sit by her bedside and stay out of Rosier’s way.

Until - 

Fucking Severus Snape. As though he was the dragon he’d conjured earlier that morning, James roared with life, a sudden energy renewed in him. Because Snape was standing over Lily’s bedside. Snape was watching her, making sure she had an even rise and fall of her chest. “You!” James snarled, that simmering rage rearing it’s ugly head as he moved over to Severus and yanked on the collar of his shirt, pulling him back, away from Lily. “Get the fuck away from her!”

Severus watched Moody drag his injured leg about like an empty sack, barking orders and checking on people and asking questions the moment he crossed the entrance. Then holding a bloody meeting with his leg hanging about rather awkwardly as it waited to be seen to. The only reason Severus didn’t drag the ridiculous man to the infirmary himself was because he was too busy to leave the infirmary —- well. No. Not so busy as that … but the thought of leaving the room when Lily was in the state she was in sent a chill down his spine, a feeling of such inevitable doom that he wouldn’t dare risk it. And so he didn’t.

But Moody slunk into the infirmary like a mouse into it’s trap. Before he could escape, Severus pounced. ‘ You’re fine when I say you’re fine, ’ Severus intoned, and waved his wand. The doors to the infirmary swung shut with an ominous click. He gestured towards the side door that led to a smaller room with the extra cot and armchair. ‘ Sit down, ’ he said. Gaze dropped deliberately towards Moody’s bad knee. ‘ That poor leg will thank you for it. ’

DOCTOR, DOCTOR

WHEN. june 25, super fucking early WHERE. prewett estate infirmary WHO. @wrongdeor

When Alastor and Gideon apparated back to headquarters, Moody was limping. He took one step, and then a second, and the pain that burned in his leg accompanied the throbbing in his head and the burning at his side quite nicely. They worked, one right along with the other, to make his body scream at him. He'd known he'd been hit, too, and he figured Gideon had seen at least the thing that'd hit him in the head. At the other man's urging he dragged his sorry carcass to the infirmary.

What he found was utter chaos, and Alastor nearly turned right back around and walked out again. He could fix his own bloody knee and his own bloody aches and pains. Evan was busy, Emmeline was too. Daisy was running about looking worried. There were too many people, and Moody drew himself inward, not wanting to be touched for fear it would spark more pain. If he did, he knew that he'd snap at someone about it. He never had been a good patient.

Moody had slunk half out of the room already before he was caught out, though, and he knew without looking who it was that'd done it. He felt, for what it was worth, like a young lad caught for trying to sneak out past curfew and wasn't that just off?

"'M fine. Don't need you or any of the others worryin' about my sorry arse," he said, voice gruff and low, holding himself with his shoulders drawn taut, favoring his left leg because the other was dragging a bit. "Can fix it myself. You've too many."

Severus had spent the last three days brewing batches of dittany and dreamless sleep as well as a number of healing potions to restock the Order’s supply after the disastrous mission last week. He spent his afternoons and some mornings making his way through his less than scrupulous social circles — decidedly more entertaining and, for this particular purpose, useful — sniffing out whatever intel he can find about the whereabouts and activities of his masked friends.

He woke up this morning with instructions to meet the Dark Lord in the evening. Severus couldn’t know if it was for their private lessons, a mission, or something else entirely. He was simply grateful for the early notice. It gave him time to rearrange his schedule and mentally prepare himself. And so here he was, late in the morning stacking vials into the infirmary cupboards when the doors swung open. He looked up from the inventory list in his hand to see a new face standing in the doorway, mouth agape, features twisted into a look of profound shock and paralysis. Severus reached into his pocket for his wand but didn’t take it out. He gave the intruder a moment to gather his wits about him, but the moment dragged on, and it was becoming really quite uncomfortable being on the receiving end of such a face.

‘ What. ’

The Peacock’s Pet

LOCATION: Prewett House DATE: June 27th, 1984 @wrongdeor

Elliot opened the door to the kitchen, grimaced, and closed it. He had been trying to find the infirmary (not because he was hurt, but simply as an exercise in navigation), but despite his fervent attempt to memorize the layout of the old Prewett House when Hestia had taken him on the tour yesterday, he couldn’t seem to get it straight in his head now. It was discouraging—or no, he told himself, it wasn’t discouraging, because he refused to let himself be discouraged. It was just…not encouraging. That was all. There was quite a wide gap between encouraged and discouraged, and he was simply neither.

He was still getting his feet under himself, he told himself, and that was fine. That was perfectly expected, perfectly natural. There was a lot to learn, after all, about the Order of the Phoenix. About being part of the Order of the Phoenix. He had only been an official member for two days—a little less than one-and-a-half, really, if you went by the slanting old grandfather clock slumped in the corner—so of course he was still getting his feet under himself. That was nothing to be ashamed of. That was perfectly natural.

None of that stopped him from feeling like he’d fallen right off those feet and into some sort of bizarre dreamscape when he opened the next door down the hallway and saw Severus Snape sitting inside. Elliot’s jaw dropped and absolutely no sound came out of his mouth as he stared—no, gaped—at the other wix in abject stupefaction. He stood in the open doorway for several seconds without moving, without even remembering to breathe, his brain scrabbling desperately as it tried to process what he was seeing.

What in the name of Merlin’s hairiest toes was Lucius and Narcissa Malfoys’ favorite side-piece doing in the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix!?